


Meetings and Partings

by ramblingAnthropologist



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Also introducing Bo Peep Shepard, From friends to lovers, How They Met, M/M, from enemies to friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingAnthropologist/pseuds/ramblingAnthropologist
Summary: So... how did you two meet?How Alistair Shepard and Garrus Vakarian came to be such a galactic power couple isn't as smooth a road as some. It involved a lot less flirting and a lot more accidental bodily harm. Yet, somehow, these two knuckleheads stuck it out. Follow them as they go from those two assholes in the Presidium to ready to pop the question as it all goes to hell.





	1. First Meeting - Alistair

Well, all things considered, this was a shitty visit to the Citadel.

Alistair sighed as he walked towards the Presidium, entire body still aching. They had said he was fine after what had happened, but… he didn’t feel alright. A soreness had settled into his bones and wouldn’t leave no matter what.

“Commander, swing left.”

Kaidan’s voice behind him led him to veer slightly to the mentioned direction. Just in time, he missed slamming into a pole. Alistair swore he heard the man sigh – definitely was him. Bo usually just told him to echo-locate or something like that – behind him.

“Thanks.”

“You really should get that looked at, Commander.”

What was there to look at? His right eye hadn’t worked since Akuze. It was a miracle he even had the damn thing still, the hell he went through. Replacing it might just throw off his balance and - what many considered to be a lack of – aim. Besides, the one dead eye and the heavy scar that accompanied it was great for intimidation.

He needed that. It was hard to intimidate people when he only came up to their chin.

Alistair shook his head as he got back on course. “Let’s keep going. Probably shouldn’t keep the Council waiting.”

Hopefully, he at least sounded calm. It was all a ruse. Really, he was about ready to die on the spot from nerves. It wasn’t every day that you went before the Council, especially to tell them something they probably didn’t want to hear. And oh, they really didn’t wanna hear all about the shit that had been beamed into his head by the weird antenna of doom back on Eden Prime.

It had a proper name, but it was a fucking antenna of doom so there.

“There’s no way they’re going to believe any of this.” Bo was as much used to this as he was, so she was probably right on the credits as always. At best, the council would just give their small group some weird ass looks while patting them on the head and sending them off. Udina would have a temper tantrum, he’d get a headache, and they’d all go back to the Normandy wishing they’d never done it at all.

Lather, rinse, repeat. It was like clockwork.

“We still have to try, though.” Kaidan was far more optimistic. How, Alistair had no clue, but it was good to keep him around just for that. His tone changed, however, as he suddenly swung around. “Commander-”

“I know, I know, swing lef-”

He didn’t swing left nearly fast enough, unfortunately. Or maybe it should have been swing right. Neither of them had really gotten communication nailed down. And instead, something got nailed by a 140 pound biotic.

Alistair felt himself collide into something hard that was far too warm to be a piece of architecture. The fact it let out a strangled noise that might have been annoyance and shock definitely meant it was sentient. Since it came down with him and he didn’t hear bones or electronics cracking, that narrowed down the list of species he would have to apologize to in a few seconds. Luckily, it wasn’t a Krogan. They were built like tanks and he still had bruises from the last time.

“Oww…”

“That’s my line.”

The slight hum that came with the smooth voice confirmed that the dulcet tones were translated. So did the weird fucking knee jutting into his side. From the looks of things, Alistair had run smack dab into a Turian.

Wouldn’t Alec Ryder be proud?

Alistair jumped to his feet, face turning red enough to match his hair. He would have offered out a helping hand, but his victim was already pulling themselves back up to their full height. Naturally, they were at least a head taller.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Alistair couldn’t speak at that moment, thanks to the fact his tongue had shoved itself down his throat. It was the voice, of course. When it came down to it, he was a weak man for voices. Even translated, this one was hot. So was the Turian it was attached to, for that matter. And as was just his look, said dream in blue armor was giving him a rather put out expression.

Wasn’t he just the master of first impressions?

Since his commander clearly wasn’t able to speak, Kaidan filled in. “Sorry about that. He has some vision problems and didn’t see you coming.”

“I was standing still.”

Oh, why couldn’t Eden Prime had killed him? Alistair’s face was full on crimson now as he managed to find his own special brand of dumbassery. It was right where he had left it, of course, next to his social anxiety and inability to aim straight. How had he forgotten that?

“I’m having a whole lot of vision problems.” Red faced, he began to walk away and only paused once more to glance back at the annoyed Turian who looked to be heading back to the C-SEC offices. Maybe he had just gotten out of a bad meeting too; he could feel for the guy.

He had also basically felt up the guy too. Yep… he was going to be thinking about him for quite some time.

“Again, really sorry… please don’t arrest me for hit and run.”

The bad joke leaked out between his lips before he could stop it. Somehow, his face managed to get even redder. At this point, all he could really do was book it the fuck out of there and hope nobody caught it on film. Problem was, there was no way to do it politely.

The Turian blinked in surprise and his mandibles twitched. “Uh… right.”

Yep… he was dead. This was truly hell.

Luckily, Bo had his back as she pushed him forward. Maybe it was his imagination, but her gaze lingered on their hit and run victim for the briefest of moments. “Didn’t we have a bunch of useless aliens to talk to? Or did we just come here for tea.”

Of course they came here for tea, but that came after the universe’s most pointless conference. Still, it was the kick in the ass Alistair needed to get back in as decent a frame of thought as possible. Focused, he began to move forward, towards where Anderson and the Council were waiting for them.

Though, he did spare one last look back at the Turian he had smacked into. He was already heading in the opposite direction, definitely not maybe catching one last look as well. That was fine by Alistair, because it saved him some extra embarrassing.

Plus, he got to watch his ass move.

“Focus on the talking asses, not the walking one.”

She was right. Alistair frowned as he went back to work. There were much more important things in mind. Besides, it was likely he would never see the other man again if he was lucky. It was kind of hard to come back from something like that anyway.

Oh well. Easy come, easy go.


	2. First Meeting - Garrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck did Garrus Vakarian just get himself into? The Turian finds himself upon a strange ship with an even stranger crew, bound for parts unknown. Worst of all, fucking Shepard is there. However, maybe he’s starting to come around to them. Just a little bit.
> 
> (Ok, so maybe in my head they didn't get along quite as well as we're led to believe. Al's a special boy.)

You know, when he got up that day, Garrus definitely didn’t expect to wind up on a ship bound for hell itself. But yet, there he was. Full speed ahead to hell.

“Last thing: here’s the big ass guns you wanted to see so badly.”

A woman with ridiculously pink hair and a scowl that could’ve made a Krogan cringe was leading him around the Normandy as they prepared to take off towards a planet full of nothing but ruins and geth. He remembered her from before, having practically pulled her friend off him back in the Presidium. Somehow, she was even more intense in close quarters. Had she always been that big?

“Thanks. I think I can take it from here.”

Shepard – he was pretty sure that was her name, everyone called her it – didn’t leave after the tour was over, though. Instead, she stared him down. Really, she was giving him the death glare of a lifetime as she folded her arms and blocked his only means of exit.

Oh, great. And here he was without his favorite gun. Years of instructors were so disappointed right then.

“Is there a problem, Shepard?”

Her gaze intensified. “Don’t fuck with him, Vakarian, or they’ll only find pieces of you.”

With that, she turned around and left him to his ‘big ass guns’ in the hold. Garrus felt his eye twitch as he watched her go. It was only when that bright pink head was completely out of sight that he managed to breathe at all. Hopefully, they would have limited contact.

Still… how the hell had he wound up there?

“You really got yourself into it this time, Garrus.” He spoke so low that none of the humans’ translators could have picked it up. Since there were no other Turians on the ship, nobody else would either. Whether that was useful or sad, he wasn’t sure. “Hooked up with a couple of Spectres.”

A couple of very weird Spectres who probably shouldn’t have been humanity’s first. But who ever said the Council had any sense? If they had, he might not have been bunking with a bunch of Alliance crew members and fiddling with their big ass guns. On the bright side, at least he got some fresh air away from C-SEC.

The downside… well…

“Everything alright down here, Garrus?”

His headache had returned with a vengeance usually only reserved for Krogans against Salarians. The Turian’s mandibles twitched in annoyance as he turned in the direction of the voice. It wasn’t Shepard again.

Well, it was Shepard, but it wasn’t the pink one who had threatened to end him. Instead, it was… well, the other one. Shepard #2, aka the reason he had bruises. He was standing there, hands in the pockets of his jacket and looking around the hold. Maybe when he was standing still like that there wasn’t a risk of him bowling people over. Really, though, how had someone like that even passed basic? The Alliance had to have been desperate. Or stupid. Or both.

Still, he was waiting for an answer. “I’m fine, Shepard. You don’t have to check on me.”

The tips of Shepard’s ears turned pink as he looked to the side. Thanks to the overhead lighting, it perfectly highlighted the long scar that cut across the right side of his face. One dead eye, murky white, was focused at the wall. On the right, as Garrus noted.

Well… that would explain why he hadn’t seen him. And why he had nearly shot him twice when they had been down in the clinic.

The Alliance must have been desperate for biotics when they let him in; it was almost kind of sad.

“I’m just making sure you’re settling in alright. If any of the crew messes with you, let me know. I’ll set them straight.”

He paused, and a brief silly grin crossed his face. For a moment, it looked like Shepard was going to say something. But when he looked back at Garrus, the smile faded and he shook his head. In fact, he looked a little sad.

What the fuck?

Still frowning, Shepard turned towards the door. “I’ll, uh, let you finish up in here. You know where everything else is, right?”

“Yes.” And yet, it was eating at the Turian. He kept musing on it as the biotic headed for the door. Eventually, as the humans said it, curiosity killed the cat and he decided to go all in on whatever was about to happen. “Shepard, wait.”

That dead eye was on him again as the human turned to face him. “Yeah?”

Translated, that was the lightest, softest trill he had ever heard come from another man. He was practically in song bird range and had no idea. Somehow, Garrus found he didn’t mind that too much. After so many harsh tones, maybe a little lightness was what he needed.

“You didn’t finish what you wanted to say.”

A sheepish expression crossed Shepard’s face. “Oh, uh… I was going to say though that’s pretty hard, me setting someone straight. You uh… you have to know me to get it I guess.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ve got to go. Bo needs me up on deck to fix her omni-tool. She smashed it again when we were back at the clinic. You know where to find me if you need me.”

And with all the skill of an N7, Shepard beat a tactical retreat towards the elevator. He left a somewhat confused Turian in his wake, still listening to the final trills and chirps that made up his translated speech.

He… was a weird one. And what was so funny about him setting people straight? Humans were weird to begin with, but this one was just… odd. Somehow, it was moving slowly from annoying to endearing. Maybe eventually he could even grow used to it if this journey went long.

And maybe the Council would pull their heads out of their collective asses. What a day that would be.

Anyway, there was work to be done and Garrus was there to do it as the Normandy began its liftoff from the Citadel. For a brief moment, he watched as they left the docks behind for parts unknown. It looked rather small from where he was standing, weird as that was.

He would never get over that feeling.

“Right… focus. Calibrations.”

After all, humans were awful about keeping their guns in check. These, especially, would need a special touch to get them perfect. Besides, it would keep his mind off a very odd, very soft-toned Spectre who couldn’t shoot to save his damn life.

Spirits, if he ever got out of this one alive, he’d be a lucky one.


	3. First Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... we're alive? 
> 
> Garrus and Alistair pause to catch their breath after Sovereign comes down on their goddamn heads. What's going to come next? Will they ever see each other again? They don't know, but it's good to have a quiet moment. And maybe one of them is starting to realize that it might be more than just a voice kink.
> 
> Great. Just what he needed.

Well... that could've gone worse.

Alistair groaned as he sat up, head throbbing. To his right, a meter beeped softly as it read out his vitals. His implant was still all over the place from what he could see out of one eye , but everything else was functioning as it should. Even with the concussion, his messed up little brain just kept on being messed up.

It was a Sunday, or at least he thought it was. Honestly, it was hard to believe it had only been two days since Sovereign had tried to kill them all. When he tried to look back on it, it felt like a lifetime ago. So, he didn't think about it. That only made his headache worse.

Compared to a large number of dead marines, he got off lightly. Just some broken ribs courtesy of his binder, the concussion, and a whole lot of blood on the outside instead of where it should have been all he had to show for it. Maybe if he was lucky he'd get a scar from where they'd stuck the IV in him.

“Good to see you conscious, Shepard.”

A translated voice drew his attention. It hurt to turn his head, but he did it anyway. Standing in the doorway, for once out of armor, was Garrus. He too sported some bandages, with the worst being his left arm bound up in a sling. Apparently, even Turian bones could break.

Alistair allowed for a brief smile that made his bruised cheeks ache. “Good to be conscious. How's the arm?”

“Hurts, but at least I'm alive to feel it.” The Turian pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down with a slight hiss that escaped the translator's abilities. “How about you? You were pretty banged up when you dragged yourself out of that mess.”

Honestly, he was lucky to have dragged himself out at all. Most people tended not to survive taking an alien space ship to the head after an all out battle for survival. At least the look on Anderson's face hadn't even been worth it when he had stumbled out of the wreck, bleeding in like twenty places he didn't even know he had.

And he was a medic. That was saying something.

It hurt to close his eyes, but he did it anyway. “Honestly, I'm frustrated.? You think that a reaper coming down in the middle of the Citadel would make people believe that I'm not making this up..”

Of course, he knew deep in his gut that nothing real was going to happen. Sure, they'd given humans a spot on the Council, but that was still a 3 to 1 vote. At best, he'd probably get a pat on the head for a job well done and then be sent off to clean up the mess. Maybe he would even get to hunt down some stray Geth if he looked eager enough. The Council would be the Council – annoying and pretty much useless.

Why had he saved them again?

He heard the soft sound of Garrus' sighing. For a brief moment, with it came the soft screeching that made up his actual voice. But then, there was the translation. “Can't say I'm too surprised. It's the Council.”

There was a long pause of nothing but silence between them, just the soft beeping of machines monitoring Alistair's vitals. Someone in the hall, a doctor maybe, was discussing a case in low tones with a nurse. It was all so mundane, it didn't even feel like they had just stared the end of the universe in the face and told it to fuck off.

But oh, did he feel it.

Next to him, Garrus shifted in his seat. “Guess you'll be going after them when you're healed up enough to put your armor back on.”

That was the plan, or at least it was then. There was always a chance somebody would ask him a favor that would deliver him once again to the ass end of space. . Even if he was a Spectre, he was still Alliance. They had his heart, or at least his gun. Wherever they needed him, he would go, Normandy in tow.

One of these days, it was going to get him killed; he just knew it.

“Yeah. Don't know when that's going to be though. If I'm reading that chart right, I've got some lovely internal bleeding they're still working on.”

“Really? I'm surprised you have any blood left after all the bleeding you did.”.”

The two shared a brief, somewhat bitter laugh but damn did it hurt to do it. Alistair grimaced as he shifted in bed, trying to take the weight off the worst of his injuries for a brief moment. Of course, then another sore spot flared up as he brushed against some bruise or contusion that he had forgotten about. Mentally, he cursed Sovereign for not being made of something squishy, like marshmallows or stuffed animals. Then again, he was pretty sure those would hurt too if they were lobbed at him at half the speed of sound. In the end, it was a toss up.

  
  


“Biotics make due.” He winced a little. “You're... heading back to C-SEC like you said, right?”

For a brief moment, his one working eye fluttered open to gauge Garrus' reaction. Unsurprisingly, he looked like a Turian who had just been put through the wringer. Still, Alistair had been around him enough by now to sense there was a slight change in his mood. The feeling in the room had shifted ever so minutely, but it was there.

And he wasn't going to like the answer.

“Yeah. I meant what I said back then.” Was Garrus smiling? It felt like it. “Guess you rubbed off on me, Shepard.”

…

Oh, God, why was he such an awful person that his brain went there?

Alistair covered up his blushing face by shifting to the side in the instance of finding a more comfortable pillow spot. “I've been told I do that.”

“It's why they go to hell and back for you.” There was a brief pause, and then, “because it's definitely not your jokes.”

Wow, way to kick a man when he's down.

“Wow, thanks. There's that nice moment gone. You sure know how to read the room, Garrus.”

Still, Alistair found himself smiling as he looked back over at the Turian. “Keep me updated, will you? I don't want to hear secondhand that you're up to your mandibles in some trouble I could have helped you with.””

Right... help. Because they were definitely friends now, or at least he hoped so. He wasn't getting that look anymore, the one that still blamed him for the near accidental shooting. There were jokes about it, sure, but they had no barb. It was good between them now.

And if Garrus asked, he'd be there in a heartbeat. No doubt about that.

“That I can do.” And there was that look again – definitely smile. Alistair was really starting to like the look of that.

He could have looked forever, but a yawn escaped his lips. Talking, as he unfortunately discovered, took more out of him than he thought. Suddenly, a nap sounded pretty good. Of course, just falling asleep on his guest was rude. Besides... it wasn't like he wanted him to leave.

“You look tired, Shepard. I should let you rest.”

There was a creaking sound as Garrus rose from his seat, cradling his injured arm. “Sleep well.”

“No promises.” It was marred by another damn yawn. “Thanks for stopping by, Garrus.”

“Anytime, Shepard.”

And then he was gone. Alistair was left alone with his thoughts and damn beeping machine that was starting to give him a headache. Sighing, he closed his eyes once more and rested his head back on the pillow. Sleep it seemed was taking its sweet time to get there.

Still, as he lay there he couldn't help but feel a sadness deep within his chest, somewhere behind his busted up ribs. It was going to be a lot quieter on the Normandy without the Turian,and their guns wouldn't be nearly as calibrated. Still good, but not to Garrus levels. Hopefully, they would survive without him.

“Hopefully I'll see him again.”

That was the last thing Alistair could muster before sleep started to take him over. With an uncertain future and restricted bed rest, it was all he really could do. Still, it was a little easier to slip into his dreams with Garrus on his mind.

With any luck, that next meeting would be sooner rather than later.

 


	4. Second Meeting - Garrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of things Garrus expected when he faced down the mercs that day. Getting backup from a ghost wasn't one of them. Still, who is he to turn down help?

Somehow, Garrus had always had a feeling he was going to go out like this.

What had once been a prime spot was quickly becoming his last stand as the Blue Suns – or maybe it was the Blood Pack? When he wasn't looking through the scope they just looked blurry to him – closed in on his position. They were beating their way across the bridge, and soon they would be on him. His only solace was the fact that the mechs hadn't come out yet.

After shooting them down once, it would be an insult to injury to be taken out by one.

He grunted as he reloaded his rifle once again, grimacing at how low his supply was growing. Down on the floor, they had probably picked up more. If it came down to just that, they would outshoot him no matter what. Skills didn't matter then – it was just a matter of time and brute force.

“Thought I'd last longer.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he took down someone wearing Eclipse colors who had strayed a little too close into his line of sight. Another one of their gang took up the position, with fresh armor and ammo to go with it. “Damn it all...”

And so ended Archangel; cause of death was getting pinned and running out of damn ammunition.

On his wrist, his omni-tool showed another up to date scan of the area. It was all blues and reds, far more than he would have expected. They were really gunning for him now, and it showed. Every one he shot down was replaced by two more, and it didn't look like the bosses cared if they made it back across the bridge. As much as he hated shooting cannon fodder, it was either them or him. If he was going down, he wasn't going to make it easy.

Someone was going to bleed for the chance to pry his plates apart, he made sure of that.

“We'll be meeting up sooner than I thought then...”

A warm feeling settled into Garrus' stomach for a brief moment, but then dashed itself on something jagged. He continued firing, but by now the recoil was barely stinging. Maybe he was used to it or too tired to notice at this point. Maybe, if he was unlucky, he was already dead and just hadn't noticed. If not for that damn sensation, he would've had nothing left in him.

Usually, it only came when he closed his eyes at night. And they were definitely open now, as a bullet nearly missed his right mandible. That's what he got for spacing out.

He ducked behind the wall as a spray of gunfire and a biotic-charged fire extinguisher lobbed their way to where he had been standing. Part of him still made space for someone who would have – should have – been at his left side, firing away and holding defenses up. But they weren't there, and it was hard to look. Of course, that was partially because there was some blood dripping into his eye, but maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

He was going to die; Garrus figured he could let it go a little.

“Squad 2, close in on the flank. We've nearly got him.”

One of the dead Blue Sun's coms was still working not too far from his little nest. He could hear it, full of static and down the hall. Squad 2 had to be the one entering into his line of sight ,big ones that wouldn't be so easy to shoot through. They weren't making it easy for him, to say the least.

Well, there he was. About to go down swinging. Garrus reflected on that as he loaded up his last round. With everything in him, he was going to make it a good one. After all, wherever he was going, if he screwed up there was someone he couldn't bear to look in the eye.

Soon...

“What the fuck?!”

A shocked voice paired with a sudden explosion somewhere off to the side, away from where any of the merc groups he had spotted should have been. It scattered the Blood Pack like they were toys, even bounced one so hard against a wall he heard the armor crack with a sickening thud. That one didn't get up, and neither did the one next to them.

“What...”

Garrus used the scope of his rifle to peer into the chaos. At first, he thought it might have been a change in plans among the merc groups. They all hated each other, after all. One bad temper going off would have made the whole plan go to hell. He had seen it before – hell, he had caused it more than a few times – so that would have been his first guess.

But he was wrong. They weren't wearing blue, or yellow for the matter. Instead, he got an eyeful of black armor, splashed with gore and grime and glowing with the cool-down of the wearer's biotic charge. His heart began to race as he aimed a little higher, towards their chest piece. Right there, in the direct center of his cross hairs, the metallic N7 stood out. But then they moved out of his sight, firing from the diminutive red pistol that most marines would have laughed at. Except they wouldn't – they were way too good.

Had to be...

For a moment, Garrus was frozen. His jaw dropped, mandibles flexing uselessly amid the carnage. But all too soon he snapped back to reality. Survival turned into cover fire as he watched the little N7 and the rest of their small team make their way up the stairs. With maybe one or two concussive shots – to keep up appearances, or to check it was really them maybe? - Garrus watched as they were soon yards away.

And then they closed the distance completely, just as the wave died out. On the other side of the stairs, there were dead mercs and another group readying themselves. But it didn't matter right then as the little not-merc stared straight at him, pistol raised in defense.

“Archangel?”

His translator didn't go for a screech like it would have done for most male marines. Instead, the softest trill Garrus thought he never would have heard again filtered through. It was asking him a question, almost as if they didn't believe it was him.

Well... that made two of them.

Garrus removed him helmet to get a better look at the two in front of them, both in that damn N7 armor. But it was the smaller of the group he kept his eyes on. It was as if time had stopped all together, or it was some weird dream he had stopped having two years ago. This shouldn't have been happening.

But it was.

“Shepard. I thought you were dead”

He should have been dead. They said that he had been spaced two years ago. But there he was, looking at him as though he shouldn't have been there at all. Fine irony, that. A dead man thought he should have been somewhere else.

Why had he missed him again?

“Garrus! What are you doing here?”

“Just... a little target practice.” He couldn't have keep up the bravado even if he wanted to, though. They were little in the middle of what had been his last stand, which was quickly turning into just another shot at him. Blood was still dripping into his eye, but he found he didn't care at all right then.

“You ok?” Shepard had closed the gap between them to check for damage. Garrus sucked in breath as the medic brushed fingers against his forehead plates, checking if the wound was serious. His touch was the same as it had been before, like he had just been away on some mission. So was his gaze, steady and focused as always. The only difference was it was multiplied now. Apparently, you got your eye back if you died.

It was definitely him though; there was no way Cerberus or anyone else could have replicated that.

“Been better, but it's good to see a friendly face.”

“You know you nailed us a couple times.” The other person there besides him and Shepard gave him a blank look as they reloaded their ammo. More was pushed towards him, though it wasn't friendly. From the gaze he was getting from the angry pink monster, he was in for it later.

Just like old times, he guessed. Garrus wasn't surprised he was on at least one Shepard's shit list. At least they weren't shooting at him, or head butting him for that matter. He had heard plenty about that over the last two years about the one who had survived.

“Had to keep up appearances, Monster. Doubt I could have killed you anyway You two were taking your sweet time and I needed you to hurry up .” A light tone meant he was amused. After all, when was Omega's number one Krogan wrestler supposed to be back in service and ripping through Eclipse mercs like they were made of paper?

But it was Shepard – well, the little one, Alistair if he was going to name them – he was focused on as they checked down below now, his blood on their gauntlets. They were looking for signs of the third wave closing in on them, Maybe the confusion of it all had bought them more time than Garrus had planned. It was good – he needed the time to breathe and maybe process it all.

“Since when did you call yourself Archangel?”

Shepard was giving the Monster a blank look, the 'I blame you for this' glance Garrus had seen time and again back on the Normandy, with all the blankness than comes from friendship and an inside joke that had been made before they had got there. Somehow, the Turian had missed that, but it wasn't really deserved this time.

“She had nothing to do with it, the locals gave it to me.”

“Uh huh.” Shepard didn't sound like he believed it at all as he watched the action below start to heat up. “I think we have company. Better get back to work. Bo and I will take the bulkheads. You just make sure you don't die on us.”

And it was the same as it always was, Garrus figured, as he got back into position as Blood Pack and Eclipse and every other damn merc on Omega geared up to shoot them dead. From the sound of things, he still had plenty left as he aimed right at the head of someone who should have known better than to charge Archangel. It was about to get messy as they fought their way out, a fight he hadn't expected at all.

That's what Alistair did, after all. He made openings that shouldn't have been there at all.

“Good to have you back, Shepard.”

“Good to be back, Garrus. I'm serious about not dying on me, though. I haven't had a chance to redo my certification yet.”

And, surprisingly, they both shared a laugh in the midst of battle as they took up their respective positions. It had only been a brief moment, but it had been all he needed. Now, with fresh eyes, he went back to aiming. After all, he didn't have to worry about being accidentally shot by his own side now.

Really, though, it was good to have Shepard back. Like someone had once told him, you never know when you're going to need a good medic.


	5. Second Meeting - Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... somebody has to clean up all that blood. Luckily, Alistair just has to focus on his armor. Problem is, it's hard to focus on anything when Garrus is dying on him. This was not the reunion he was hoping for. If there's any luck in this world, he'll get to make up for it. 
> 
> (How much blood is in a Turian? A fuuuuuck tooooon.)

The shuttle ride from Omega to the Normandy was one of the longest he had ever been on, and yet it had only lasted thirty minutes. Of course, when you spend all of that holding a man's face together with a mix of medi-gel and sheer will, time tends not to play by regular rules.

Garrus was rushed into the med bay the moment their shuttle stopped moving.. The path they had taken him was stained bright blue with his blood, darkening to an indigo as it dried. That would take forever for someone to clean up. Luckily, that someone wasn't him.

He had his own cleaning to do. Alistair caught sight of himself as he started to strip out of his armor when he could breathe again. Every piece of his armor was blue, with the heaviest concentration in his gauntlets. They'd probably always have a blue tint now. What a great memento. Come to Omega, see your friend almost die trying not to make it a shit hole. It would be great for tourism.

“He'll make it.”” Alistair whispered as he pulled off his chest plate and placed it on the table, following it up with the remaining pieces a few moments later.. They too were stained blue, but not nearly as bad. It would just take some heavy cleaning to get rid of it. Lucky for him, they happened to be drifting in space. He had all the time he needed now.

He changed in silence, eyes locked on his dirty armor. There was some red blood mixed in among the blue, turning a sticky purple as levo and dextro dirty danced across the hard surface. Experience told him what a pain that was going to be to scrape off, but right then he didn't care.

For all he knew, Garrus was dying two floors up.

“Keep it together, Shepard.” The voice of Alec Ryder leaked from between his teeth as his eyes tried to betray him . His vision swam briefly, but he willed it back into focus. He was dry eyed, but his throat was killing him. Luckily, cleaning off armor didn't require talking.

Alistair eventually took most of his dirty armor into the empty observation room closest to the med bay. He started on his chest plate mainly because it was the easiest of the bunch.. Scrubbing just made his hands hurt, but it was something to focus on besides what had happened on an hour ago. Just seeing Garrus again made it feel like his heart had started beating for the first time since waking up. And now? Now the Turian's heart might be stopping for good.

“No, Dr. Chakwas is the best there is.. She can fix him. You kept him going and made sure there was enough blood left in his system to keep it pumping..”

The armor shook in his hands, but Alistair didn't drop it. Instead, he just stared down at the dirty surface. Blood had soaked through the plates, creating blue rivets among the black. Normally, he liked black and blue together, but now it just made him sick. So, he scrubbed as hard as he could, trying to get rid of it.

His hands were blue by the time he finished one section and his back ached. Space wasn't a great way to tell how much time had passed, but the lights had dimmed since he had entered. So, there he was sitting in half darkness, waiting.

Waiting for hope of good news.

“Damn, did you see what Chakwas was working on in the med bay? What the hell happened to that Turian?”

“Caught a glimpse when I went to get something to eat. Heard he got hit with a rocket. Looked like ground up meat. No way that one's making it.”

The voice of two crew mates carried from the hall and caused Alistair to nearly drop his chest plate. Heart racing, all he could do to steady himself was hug it tight. The raised N7 pressed hard into his chest and was probably going to leave a bruise later. Well, it would just join the rest.

There was so much blood though. Garrus had been swimming in it when they had picked him up. And now there it was, painting the shuttle floor, splashed on the wall, and sticking to his armor. Who knew Turians could bleed so much?

Alistair reeled back in shock as he pried a piece of something hard and gray that was stuck to his armor. It still had the faintest bit of blue smeared on it, darker than the blood... same color as Garrus' tattoos. It took all his strength not to fling it away, but instead knock it into a nearby trashcan with a shaking hand.

“God, please be ok.”

He wasn't one for praying, not really. But if anyone was listening, he hoped they agreed. No one answered, though. He hadn't expected it. Instead, he just kept scrubbing away, until it felt as though he might rub completely through his armor.

By the time Alistair had managed to get his chest plate clean, he was pretty sure hours had passed. His hands definitely made him think so as he flexed them, wincing at the stiffness. They were almost as blue as the stains he was trying to clean off, and smelled just as bad. And yet he still had plenty to clean.

“This is getting me nowhere.”

He sighed and stood, taking his helmet with him. The hallway was emptier now, perhaps because the night crew had switched over. The med bay was still occupied when he glanced over, but by who he didn't see. He didn't want to see, honestly.

“Yo, where the fuck have you been?”

A solid knock to his head caused Alistair to wince and almost drop his soiled helmet. He fumbled for it at the last minute and managed to make himself even worse by pressing the dirty visor against his chest. That was another thing he'd have to clean, but at least laundry was easier.

Up above, wearing a bored expression, was Bo. There was a smear of dark blue on her collar, but the rest of her was remarkably clean. Perhaps she had missed it, or just left it there to scare the Cerberus crew away. It worked, because his stomach dropped at the sight of it.

It was hard to make his tongue work. “Oh... uh... cleaning my armor. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Check the lower deck, they have this shit that's good for getting Turian blood off things.” She glanced towards the med bay.”Vakarian was looking for you, by the way.”

Alistair's heart went from his shoes to his chest. “Garrus is awake?”

“Chakwas finished about an hour ago. He's even uglier now, so, have fun with that.” Bo gave him a slight nudge towards the battery. “Pretty sure he was setting up in there.”

And then his helmet was plucked out of his hands as another shove propelled him closer to the battery doors. Alistair's heart was in his throat as he walked towards them faster than he would have expected. By the time he reached them, his heart was pounding.

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

“Take it easy, Shepard.”

Good, perfect. Now he just needed to keep remembering how to word.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Alistair pushed through the doors. As Bo had told him, Garrus was indeed setting up in a corner of the battery. He had already put his things away and set up a cot appropriate to his frankly odd anatomy. Right then, he had his back to the door as he fussed with the large gun. It was as if nothing had changed.

Except for that massive hole in his armor that was crusted with dried blood. That was new.

The sound of the closing door got Garrus' attention and he turned to face his visitor. It was amazing he had a face left at all, honestly. The right side was heavily scarred, and it looked like someone had just stitched a metal patch over the right side of his head where a human's ear would have been. It'd keep things in place, but not much else.

“Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?”

God, he was fucking joking. Alistair felt a response die in his throat and his vision blurred. Fucking asshole. Fucking stupid alive asshole.

“Shepard?”

It was so good to see him on his feet, alive. Nothing had seemed real after waking up, but there Garrus was in mostly one piece. Someone had been listening after all, though whether it was a deity or spirit. did it honestly matter?

Alistair managed a smile but it was hard to keep his eyes from watering. Space allergies were shit like that.“Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and nobody will notice the difference.”

And that damn Turian laughed again. “Oh, don't make me laugh, my face is barely holding together as it is.”

Boy, did he know about a face barely holding together – his glowed in low light. The two of them were just massive messes, stuck on a suicide mission to the ass end of nowhere. But it was nice, not being alone in that nightmare.

Garrus' face went serious for a moment as he looked around the room. His eye stopped on the logo that was pretty much plastered everywhere – Alistair was getting sick of that damn evil cheerio. “I'm more worried about you, though. Cerberus, Shepard? You remember what they were doing, right?”

Yeah, he kept that in his memories right next to the fucking thresher maw that turned Akuze into a bloody worm farm. Did a play by play of it every time he closed his eyes.

“Between that and me, I don;t know what's more fucked up.” Alistair rubbed his cheek as he spoke. “But right now, I'm using them as much as they're using me. Hopefully I get more out of the bargain before they try to shove me out an airlock.”

If he was lucky, Garrus might try to grab him before they did. He owed him now technically.

Luckily, the Turian didn't seem to be running for the closest shuttle back to Omega. “Understood. I'm fit for duty when you need me. Hopefully this time you won't get an entire Reaper dropped on you.”

Was that a joke? Alistair found himself chuckling. “Fine,your first order is to help me clean up my armor. Turian blood is a nightmare.”

“Well, excuse me for bleeding on you when I was shot in the face.”

Garrus nudged him in the shoulder and the gesture was all Alistair needed. The two of them continued laughing at their own bad jokes in the Normandy's battery, content for the moment to ignore the fact just what fresh hell both had stepped into. That would be more than obvious in the coming days. Maybe it was a little bit of denial, but they had both earned that.

After all, it wasn't every day you came back from the dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up. After I do second parting, this fic is going to go on hiatus until my gay ass finishes ME3. I'll remind y'all again next chapter, but here's your official notice.


	6. Second Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... we survived the Omega-4 relay. What now?
> 
> Alistair and Garrus have some time to try to figure that out as they head back to ports unknown. There's a lot hanging over their heads and some things that need to be said. Hopefully they can do it before Alistair turns himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to type when you have a finger out of commission. Why do I play guitar again?
> 
> Anyway, sorry this took forever. I'm depressed, stressed, and some days barely dressed. Maybe therapy will help. I'll try to get the next chapter up by the end of October but it's Inktober so IDK. 
> 
> Shout out to all my friends who listened to me complain about this all September. I did the thing. Now I can rest my poor, aching middle finger. (I'm not kidding I hurt my middle finger on the fretboard. Whoops.)

If someone had told Garrus that one day he'd be standing in a hallway with a hamster in a marine's helmet, he would have asked what the hell they were on.

“Doing alright in there, Saren?”

Reality was one hell of a drug that way.

Two beady red eyes peered at him from the confines of the helmet. The hamster continued to chew on his seed, content with the world and everything in it. Maybe he didn't know he was a survivor of the Omega 4 Relay, or maybe he just didn't care. He had his seeds, he was good. Garrus admired that about him.

“Your dad should be out soon. Try not to mess his helmet up too much.”

Said father was currently in the remains of the com room, giving his less than two weeks notice to the one who had put this all together. As much as Garrus wished he could have been there to hear it, someone had to be on Saren duty. It might as well have been him.

Besides, he was feeling a little weak in the knees. It wasn't every day you survive a suicide mission.

Honestly, Garrus still couldn't believe they had made it out at all, but the ship was proof. There were snapped wires and places where the plating had buckled and bent under the sheer weight of gravity as they passed through the relay. On the outside, scorch marks and one very large hole in the cargo bay was all the proof he needed they had gone toe to toe with the Collectors. His heart was still racing from that – a shootout was one thing, but one in the bowels of a ship hurtling towards apparently uncertain doom was another thing entirely.

The things Alistair Shepard put him through. He was lucky he was cute.

Said space marine appeared in the ruined remains of the com room, looking fit to be tied and then some. He brushed loose hair from his face as he sighed. Whether it was from annoyance or just being so damn tired, it was hard to tell. Humans were weird like that.

“Asshole.”

Garrus approached, taking Saren with him. “I take it things didn't go well?”

Alistair gave him a tired smile in response as he reached out to take his helmet and hamster back. “Something like that. Thanks for watching Saren for me.”

Their fingers brushed together briefly in the exchange, making Garrus' heart soar. They could do that now, couldn't they? Pre-Omega 4 plans hadn't gone quite as planned but... well he considered that something. A hand touch couldn't be so off base, right?

Alistair was looking at him, shit, words, he had to say something clever.

“Practically had to fight the entire crew for it.”

Nailed it. And people said flirting was hard.

Next to him, the human chuckled as he reached in to stroke the hamster's tiny head. They were heading through the remains of the CIC now, past crew who kept muttering it had to be a fucking miracle that any of them survived. Some of them cast knowing glancing towards the pair, but said nothing. There was a lot of money changing hands and Garrus would have been disappointed if it wasn't the GDP of a small nation like he had hoped. After all, it wasn't every day you started dating the first human Spectre.

It also wasn't every day you survived the Omega 4 Relay, but... well, he was a romantic at heart?

Alistair leaned against his side once the elevator doors closed – the coiled spring that had made up his entire body was starting to unkink as the tension drained from him. Step one, survive, was complete. The rest was a bloody mess, but they could deal with that later. Right now, it was just time to drink it all in.

“Did you happen to catch where Tali and Bo were? I didn't see them in the CIC.”

Garrus chuckled as he reached across – a fucking galaxy of distance – to squeeze Alistair's hand gently. Human bones were like glass. “I think I saw them down in engineering. Apparently, Tali has quite the cold going on.”

Alistair snorted in response. “Who didn't see that one coming? Guess I better tell Chakwas to make sure we have plenty of medicine until we get back to...”

He paused, frowning. “Well, I don't really know.”

An awkward silence fell over the elevator as it took them to their stop outside the Spectre's quarters. Alistair stepped out on auto-pilot, letting his hamster out in his proper cage. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold well enough until their next stop.

But, well, shit. Where do you go after that?

Garrus watched him, frowning. “Still don't know?”

Alistair sank into his desk chair, tired eyes closing. The dark circles under his eyes looked like craters, and it wasn't just because he was so pale. Sleep had been light for everyone on the crew, and he was first among them. For a second, it looked like he had fallen asleep sitting up, but then he spoke.

“I really don't know. I mean it's not like the Council would believe me on this. Last time I tried to tell them about the Reapers it took one blasting them with a laser to actually believe it.”

Well, that and half the 5th Fleet blowing up. No one ever said they were smart. After all, they were politicians. Still, Garrus frowned at the thought. If the Council didn't believe them, that didn't leave many options. The few that were left... were not attractive to say the least.

They were far. He didn't like far.

Alistair's eyes opened after a few moments of rest. “Shit, I'm being rude. Uh... have a seat I guess?”

With the desk taken, that left the floor – bad idea, Alistair didn't need a close up of how Turian knees worked - the bed – he wasn't even going there – and the chair next to it. Garrus was happy to sink into that, body protesting. Even with his armor, the Collectors had gotten him good. He was lucky his face plates weren't falling off.

I mean, besides the fact that meant his face would literally be in pieces, that would be bad for business.

“You have a lot on your mind, Shepard.”Garrus was glad the man across from him was human and thus shit at picking up sub-vocals. There was a whole lot of embarrassment on that one. His tongue had been down his damn throat for crying out loud, and last name was the best he could do? But were they even there? Sure, Alistair called him by first name but...

And he was overthinking it. Great.

At the desk, Alistair groaned as he rested his head on the flat surface like some weird earth turtle that didn't care about back pain. “Don't I know it.”

He looked up after a long while, blue eyes catching the overhead light and making them glow. “Look, I'm planning to make a stop before I head back to Earth to get the Normandy back in Alliance hands.. Sorry I can't get you back to Palaven, but the Citadel should be good enough.”

Garrus' protest came out first as something he knew the human would have described as 'out of Jurassic Park'. It translated as nothing that made sense to him, and probably even less so to who it was directed to. In the end he just stared, modified mouth agape.

“You're going back?”

It rocketed through the empty space like a bullet destined to mess up someone's day down the line. Alistair didn't look at him. Instead, he traced some sort of symbol on his desk. For a brief moment, it looked as though he had forgotten he had even been asked anything. His shoulders sagged, no doubt from the weight of the universe pressing down hard. How they didn't break was beyond Garrus. Maybe they were and he just couldn't see it.

“Nobody else is going to believe me.” Those blue eyes met his. “Besides, it's kind of my job, you know?”

Though he smiled, there was something there that even Garrus knew to be forced. After all, this was a forced retreat. Once they parted, that would be it. There was only a jail cell waiting for the Spectre should he return. Given what they had just stared down... well, it wasn't good.

After all, what help could the Normandy be against the Reapers if it's CO was locked up on Earth?

“Shepard-” Garrus started to speak, but then he stopped. Whatever he had wanted to say evaporated into thin air as he tried to form it. He already knew what kind of response he would have gotten from his suggestion – nothing useful, and it would just waste time. What was going to happen was already set in stone. He had to accept it.

Besides... he could understand it. The Reapers would be gunning for Palaven too if they got their way. There were a lot of good men, women, and children down there that had no idea what was coming for him. Spirits, most of the universe was in the dark. It was just them against an army – no, their own destruction.

Maybe... maybe going home for a bit wasn't so bad of an idea after all.

Alistair's voice was quiet in the cabin. “They need you back on Palaven. Nobody else saw what we saw. If there's anyone who can get them to listen, it's you.”

He was right, and both of them knew it even though they didn't want to admit it. But there was a whole lot of distance and radio silence between Earth and Palaven, especially in the months that were to come. If it was going to be as bad as they thought... well, there wasn't going to be a whole lot of room for talking about anything other than survival. As much as Garrus hated to admit it... this was probably their last few moments together.

Not goodbye, though. That was even worse than anything else he could think of. He banished that thought from his mind for the moment. There would be time for that later – perhaps on the shuttle, or on the Citadel before they parted ways. He was going to hold off on that for as long as he could. Maybe it was denial, but maybe they had earned that after the hell they had gone through.

At least, that's what he told himself. Maybe he had earned a little denial after staring a damn Collector right in the face and shooting it.

Garrus sighed and glanced over to where Alistair was still sitting, looking as though he was trying to write something. Maybe it was a warning letter for whoever was going to be on duty that day when he brought the Normandy back – how considerate. He kept frowning and brushing the hair away from his eyes as he worked. It was still a foreign gesture, so it made the Turian chuckle.

“You know, if you go back they're going to make you cut your hair.”

He didn't really get the appeal, honestly, but it was fun to watch the Spectre's head pop up when he said it. A somewhat sheepish expression crossed Alistair's face as he rubbed the back of his head. That only made things worse, but hey he wasn't human. What did he know?

“You know... maybe Jack had something about going pirate after all.”

A rough laugh escaped Garrus from somewhere deep within his tired body. It was probably the first time he had laughed in days, weeks maybe. From how things were going, it was also probably the last time he would be laughing at all. So, he treasured it in that broken down room, watching the ship's commanding officer turn red from his offense. His cheeks puffed out much like the hamster that was watching the two of them handle this about as well as they did anything else.

Really... it was moments like this that reminded Garrus why he liked him at all. And yeah, even he had to admit it was a 'like-like' sort of thing as the humans put it. After all, what else would motivate someone to sign up to a literal suicide mission except if the commanding officer was cute?

Well, besides duty, pride, those sorts of things. But the cute commanding officer with a penchant for getting into trouble definitely helped. Now if only that would stop the Reapers and send them back to wherever the hell they came from. That would at least save them having to dodge a few more bullets.

“Hey, Garrus, could you take a look at this? I want to make sure this sounds strong enough to get through somebody's damn head.”

Duty called. The Turian was soon back at his commanding officer's side, inches away from touching, as they began their work of drilling sense into the offending party's damn head. If he was lucky, maybe he would be able to pull Alistair away for a few quiet moments once he had hit send. After all the bullshit they had gone through, maybe they had earned a little luck.

You know, besides the surviving the relay thing. And really, that was more skill than luck anyway.


	7. Third Meeting - Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My world's on fire, how bout yours?
> 
> That's the way Alistair Shepard doesn't like it, but at least he isn't bored. With Palaven burning before him under attack of Reapers, he expected a lot. What he didn't see coming was just who strolled up like he owned the moon. The six month radio silence between himself and Garrus is about to end... though his low blood sugar might complicate things. His body really picks the worst times to crap out on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. I got hit with some really bad writer's block and had to play ME3 a couple times to get the feel I wanted. Then I had to install some mods and play it again to make sure I got the right screencaps. And that brings us to today. 3.5 has a plan... I just haven't written it yet. Whoops. 
> 
> Also I might be planning smut to go between 3.5 and another fic of mine. We'll see. Anyway, happy groundhog day.

Shit. It really had gone to hell in a hand basket, hadn't it?

That was really all the thought Alistair could put into it as he tried to focus. Right then, about twenty things hurt in various degrees that were being pushed to the background. The biggest concern was the pounding in his head that refused to play nice. Was his amp overheating, or had a potshot from one of the husks given him a concussion? He would have to check later if they survived this.

“If”was really working its way into his vocabulary those days.

In any other circumstance, he no doubt would have been in awe of his surroundings. After all, he had never even been close to Palaven before. The vids had always showed it as large and imposing, with an undefinable quality of untouchability to it. Now the planet loomed in front of him, a dark sphere dyed bright orange by fires that raged on the surface below. It was lit up like a Christmas tree, only there would be no presents for the good little turians who didn't wiggle their mandibles at authority figures. Instead, it was just Reapers. Lots and lots of fucking Reapers.

“Please tell me you know where this General Victus is.” Alistair's forehead throbbed – not the amp, those ran hot. It was too high for that anyway, and it didn't feel like a concussion either. Most likely, it was a good old fashioned tension headache trying to murder him - as he turned to the turian trying to get hold of someone in the hierarchy. As far as he knew, there were a lot of dead people in charge and trying to find one that wasn't proved a challenge. It was a fact he knew all too well since leaving Earth – corpses couldn't lead an army, not even turian ones.

Still, you think for a bunch of aliens known for having a primordial stick wedged up their asses they'd know the hierarchy like the back of their hands. Maybe they did and there was just too much dirt and blood to notice it. They were all coated in the stuff lately, himself first among them. At least the black of his armor hid the blood most times when it wasn't his. When it was... well, he could feel that and didn't need the visual.

“I'm on it, Shepard. We'll find the Primarch.”

It wasn't the turian at the console who had spoken – he was kind of busy dealing with the communications nightmare stretched out before them. Nor had it been any of the other surrounding soldiers, either too exhausted or shell-shocked to say anything at all. Alistair's skin prickled as his head snapped in the direction of the voice. It was one he thought he might never hear again. But it was there, and it still raised a shiver up his spine.

Garrus Vakarian made his way through the camp, cutting a path through the rank and file. His eyes were laser-focused on where the small group of humans and turians had gathered, though if anyone had something to say on how his gaze lingered of the smallest of the bunch they kept it to themselves. For his planet being on fire and Reapers zooming overhead, he looked good. The patch over the right side of his face was just scar tissue now, and the way his mandibles moved suggested that there was no permanent damage there. Despite getting hit by a rocket only months prior, he was ok. Even better, given he had finally replaced his damn armor. Maybe the end of the universe had necessitated it.

Alistair had to blink back surprise as a familiar sensation bloomed in his stomach and ventured somewhere lower down his body where it did nobody any good. Well... six months of house arrest and constant surveillance could do that,but did it have to do it here? They were literally getting the shit kicked out of them by Reapers, and yet his damn biology found the time to scream out its needs. It was a battle between little and big heads, and the big one needed to win this one.

Later, if they survived... maybe he could see to the other one.

The turian he had been speaking to straightened up and made a brief salute. “Vakarian, sir-”

Sir?

The gesture was met with a surprising amount of ease as Garrus nodded back. “At ease, General.”

Now, Alistair wasn't technically in the Alliance anymore after becoming a Spectre. Even if you counted reinstatement after death, there was that lovely little handful of treason trials he had sat through afterwards. Hell, he had just gotten his dog tags thrown at him for a reminder of that. He still remembered rank, though. If Garrus was above a General... well, shit. How high was he?

And more importantly... ok maybe now he kind of understood Bo's rank kink. Just a little bit.

Problem was, this was the part where he probably should have said something. It had been a long six months of radio silence and Palaven was literally on fire in the background. All in all, not exactly a good reunion setting. However it was probably the best anyone was going to get with the Reapers dive bombing their collective sitting places translated as ass, so he'd take what he could get. Words, though? Words weren't coming to him. A beeping was, though. It was kind of annoying.

“You're alive.”

Poetry in motion.

At least Garrus didn't seem to mind. Maybe he quirked a smile – the turian version – and nodded his head in return. There was a light in those eyes, half hidden by his visor, that filled Alistair with a different kind of uncomfortable warmness. It was ok, though – Garrus was there, and he was alive. If that made him a little hot under the collar, he'd take it gladly.

“You should know I'm hard to kill.”

Alistair normally would've responded to that, but the beeping at his wrist had become impossible to ignore. He suppressed a groan as he flipped his right wrist over, the numbers soon displaying through the grime. Blood sugar: 49 and dropping. If it got below 40, it wouldn't just be his hands shaking. The damn thing would keep going until he either passed out or ate something, and he knew it could keep it up for hours. All of this was of course his fault – he had modified the damn thing after all. Boy, was that biting him in the ass.

The turian nodded as he watched. “Need to refuel?”

He finally gave up and nodded, the motion making his head spin. Bad idea – food, then gestures. “Last couple waves took a lot out of me. Be right back.”

He moved away from the small group, half surprised he hadn't noticed his tongue had gone numb and his vision was a little funny. Maybe it was the surprise of seeing Garrus again, or it could've been the whole planet system on fire thing. Most likely it was both – he wasn't exactly having a good couple of days.

Or weeks. Or months... he was pretty sure there was a song about it. How did it go again?

Surprisingly, the turian followed him over as he found a quiet spot to refuel. Alistair was glad for that as he ripped into his emergency energy supply and downed half of it in one go. The too sweet sugar solution made him cringe, but it worked Soon his omni-tool would stop shaking now that he had satisfied its need for sugar.

Still... words. He needed those.

“I thought you'd be on Palaven.”

Ok, not great. His brain was still processing the sugar. Still, he got points for trying. They evaporated as soon as Alistair saw the look on Garrus' face. Troubled, worried maybe? It was all in the set of his mandibles and the tension that almost made his carapace vibrate in place. . There was a lot going on up there, far too much to explain in just words. He knew the feeling.

They hadn't talked a whole lot about it, but he knew the man had family back on Palaven. Hopefully it was more of a 'have' situation than a 'had' – he had seen way too many of those in the last couple of days. If anyone deserved to have someone worrying about him back down on the ground, it was Garrus. With any luck, he might see them again.

The turian sighed and rubbed his hand over his reconstructed mandible. The scarring was starting to subside, and the implants were mostly hidden. In a couple of months, it would be even harder to guess what side had taken the rocket. “If we lose the moon, we lose Palaven.”

He pulled a face Alistair didn't even know turians could make – damn, those mandibles were flexible. Wasn't he supposed to be the one with reach? “I'm the closest thing we have to an expert so I'm... advising.”

Alistair almost laughed at that, but held it in at the last second. It hurt too much to laugh anyway He knew a rib fracture when he felt one, and there was at least two going on there. At least Chakwas wouldn't be able to blame his binder for those. He took his small victories where he could get them – they were getting fewer by the day.

“Bet you love that.”

“Oh you know it.” Garrus shook his head as he nudged Alistair's hand towards his mouth. “Finish your juice, Shepard. You're going to need it to get through those husks.”

That first touch was like rain in a desert. Though he couldn't feel the brief exchange of warmth, the loo in Garrus' eyes was all he needed to figure the rest out. Despite the hell going on around them, they were finally in the same place again, as if fate had decided to plop them down among reapers and husks and all the other foul things. Ok, so fate sucked at planning, but he wasn't going to complain too much.

Still. Eyes on the prize and not on the turian. Alistair stood, brain clearer and tongue no longer flopping uselessly in his mouth. He was beginning to think of his small team's next move, every idea supplemented with a certain sniper. Their chances were looking better already.

“So, do you know where my guy is or what?”

Maybe if Palaven wasn't on fire, there would have been time for something a little more respectful for the next in line to lead the burning planet. But the fires needed to be put out, and a Primarch apparent needed rescuing. The formalities could come later when getting shot in the head wasn't a certain possibility.

Garrus' mandibles twitched as they started to walk back. “Not quite. Lost track of him in the morning when it got a little heavy. Knowing Victus, he's still alive.”

“Great, so we're heading back out into no man's land on a wild turian chase.” Briefly, Alistair found himself grinning. “You sure know how to treat a guy.”

At first, he regretted his existence entirely. Even with the sugar, his brain wasn't 100% working yet. Finding a hole to crawl into sounded like a great idea, even if he might get shot in the process. Something, something... eye on the mission?

Luckily, Garrus' mandibles twitched in that way that meant he wasn't taking it seriously. “The vids said humans enjoyed this sort of thing. Or was I watching disaster ones again?”

Alistair snorted in response. “Oh, yeah. Great first date material for sure. Remind me to explain a few things to you when we have Victus back on the Normandy.”

He had plenty to tell – and show – the turian when they were alone. After all, it had been a long six months. He had to get some things off his chest.

But first he had to focus on kicking some reaper ass, shoring up Menae, and escaping with a living Primarch not full of bullet holes or bitten to pieces. That was something he could handle, especially with Garrus at his side.

Together, the pair walked back to where the rest of Alistair's team was waiting for him to give the next round of orders. During his snack break, they had begun to talk. Bo's back was turned to him, and Vega's eyes were suddenly focused right on the small gap between human and turian. A knowing look passed over his face – not quite a grin, but he was on to... something. Damn the fact they had spent six months on house arrest together. He knew too damn much.

What was worse, the large man jabbed a finger towards them. “Wait, THAT'S Mandibles?”

Bo's voice betrayed her mild amusement. “Yep.”

Alistair felt his face heat up as he heard the final remarks before they got back into fight mode. “Didn't think loco was into big guys.”

Well... he was. Guilty as charged on that one.

Still, that was neither here nor there given hell was coming down around their heads. He took a deep breath to steady himself and glanced around. The turians gathered at the small base that could still move were gearing up for another round of assault. Off in the distance was the gate they would soon be charging through in order to find the soon to be Primarch Victus. Whoever he was, Alistair hoped he didn't mind surprise visits. If he did... well, he could consider it later as on the job training.

“Garrus, take us to where you last saw the general. With any luck he's still in the area.” He turned to his small group. “Vega, you stay behind to help out here. Everyone got it?”

He was glad for the lack of an argument, just nods that told him that his words had gotten through. And then it was go time – gear on, assault rifle primed and ready to go up against the countless waves of reapers that would be waiting for them. With one more breath, off they went through the gate. Out into hell in the hopes they would soon have a Primarch.

Man, he sure knew how to pick out locations for a first date. Oh well, one had to improvise a bit during an outright universe wide war for survival. Luckily he was pretty good at that.

 


End file.
